


talk me down

by ketabat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fuckbuddies, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, No Incest, Post-Season/Series 02, Protective Billy Hargrove, Rimming, Soft in His Own Way Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington has a Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketabat/pseuds/ketabat
Summary: The guy lets go of his shoulder bag and holds a hand out with what Billy assumes is a practiced display of professional cordiality. “Right, sorry,” he laughs quietly, a familiar and alien thing all at once. “I’m Rob- Well, Robert Junior. Sorry but what are you doing in my family’s house? You the new gardener?”or, the one where steve has a brother
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & OC
Comments: 25
Kudos: 409





	talk me down

Billy likes to think he knows everything about Steve.

Being his— well, not _boyfriend,_ but close enough. A multiple night stand? Fuckbuddy? Bedfellow? They haven’t really put a label on their sexapades or their sitting on the couch, making fun of every face on TV. Or their heated makeout sessions against the counter before Billy teaches Steve simple recipes for when his parents are away and/or forget to send him money. So _yeah,_ being _whatever they are,_ he’s bound to know a few things about him.

Like how his attention span is barely existent unless they’re laying horizontal. How he has to rinse his mug before pouring his coffee in because _germs_. Or how the first thing he does in the morning is check on _Dustin._ And how after he’s done making his sandwiches, he brushes the crumbs off the counter and into his hand to put them outside for the birds.

It’s hard to spend a lot of time with someone without noticing the little things about them.

He also knows Mr and Mrs. Harrington are only around three days a month. Sometimes two. He’s never asked Steve about it. Felt like it would drive them a little closer to the obligation of labelling their thing.

So like. Yeah. He likes to think he knows every little detail about him, from the piddling ones like how he hates wearing socks in bed, to bigger, more known things like how he’s an _only child._

Which turns out to be _fucking wrong._ Because the door rings at an ungodly hour that has Steve pushing a cold foot against Billy’s calf and mumbling a, _too tired._

And Billy— a month ago, he’d have pushed Steve away and snarled back something along the nasty lines of _fuck you, Harrington. It’s your fucking house._

But that would be a month ago. Present Billy just ruffles Steve’s hair enough to annoy him and climbs out of bed. “You owe me a suck,” he states. He stops at the door. “ _And_ breakfast.”

Steve’s face remains buried in his pillow, eclipsed by his soft hair as he sticks up his longest finger. It makes Billy roll his eyes and plod his way out and downstairs, where the knocking has become more incessant. All while pulling a shirt over his head.

“Easy on the fuckin’ door! I’m coming!” Billy shouts, and just to annoy whoever’s on the other side a little more, he moves slower, hums, takes a look in the antique mirror the Harringtons have installed just beside the door. He swings the door open.

And— well. If it weren’t for his grip on the side of the door, he’d probably be staggering back from the intangible force of seeing a face so— so _familiar._ And so _not_.

Because he hasn’t _met_ this guy, he’s sure of it. He has never seen him before in his life but—

_Holy shit._

“Hi, uh,” the guy starts. He lifts himself onto his tippytoes and looks over Billy’s shoulder. He has one hand resting against his shoulder bag and the other wrapped around the handle of his suitcase. He takes a step back to look at the house number before his eyes are on Billy again. “This is the Harringtons’, right?”

Billy clears his throat and throws a glance over his shoulder. “Right. Who are you?” He asks, bracing an arm over the doorjamb and inching the door a little more _closed._

The guy lets go of his shoulder bag and holds a hand out with what Billy assumes is a practiced display of professional cordiality. “Right, sorry,” he laughs quietly, a familiar and alien thing all at once. “I’m Rob- Well, Robert Junior. Sorry but what are you doing in my family’s house? You the new gardener?”

Billy licks over his mouth, easily putting two and two together. He ignores the proffered hand as he says, “No. I’m Billy Hargrove. Friend of Steve’s.”

The guy — _Rob_ — nods slowly, looks like he’s not sure he believes him. “Huh. That twerp got friends now?” he asks, playful despite his monotone as he awkwardly lowers his hand. When Billy doesn’t laugh, he shifts his weight to the opposite foot. “Um. Not that I need an invitation into my own house but—” he presses a hand to the door and pushes. Billy moves with the impact and steps away.

“Right. Yeah, yeah,” he opens the door wider and shuts it behind _Rob_.

“Parents not home?” Rob asks, hauling his suitcase in. “Not surprised. Where’s Steve?”

And honestly? Fuck this guy. “I’m not your fucking doorman, amigo,” Billy says before he can curb it. Sounds more aggressive than he wants to let on. “Go look for him yourself.”

Rob turns around and gives Billy a slow once-over, brow lifted and gaze condescending. It allows Billy the chance to look him over as well. From his slicked back brown hair, to his eyes that look an awful lot like Steve’s despite not carrying the same warmth. An angular jaw where Steve's more round, covered in a designer stubble. He’s approximately the same height as Steve, maybe has an inch on him. And this guy has no fucking sense of style whatsoever. Who even walks around Hawkins dressed in a _suit?_

“Your inferiority complex is acting up,” Rob states, voice just as even and calm as every other thing that’s left his mouth since he showed up here. Billy takes a threatening step closer, then stops. Because this is _Steve’s brother_ and the last thing on his list is fucking things up with Steve. In fact, that isn’t on his list at all. His fists clench at his sides and his chin juts, muscle in his jaw pulsing.

Bare footfalls come a second later, drawing closer as Steve climbs down the stairs. “Who was it—” Steve comes to an abrupt stop. One that Rob doesn’t seem to notice as he lets go of his suitcase and shoulders past Billy to get to his brother. Billy can hear Steve’s perplexed ‘Robbie’ smothered into a hug that makes Billy a little nauseous.

“I’m gonna make coffee,” he states, wanting any reason to escape this mawkish brotherly reunion.

“I’ll have mine black, no sugar,” Rob calls out, not bothering to even glance Billy’s way as he makes his order. And Billy’s confident that if this cunt wasn’t Steve’s brother, he wouldn’t be a living fucking organism right now either.

Steve looks at Billy from over his brother’s shoulder, giving him his best puppy dog eyes. And screw Billy for being a dog person. He rolls his eyes and leaves to the kitchen, where he makes Steve’s coffee just the way he likes it and makes sure to add three generous spoonfuls of sugar into Rob’s. He hides his smile into his mug when Rob sputters the coffee out onto his designer suit.

He puts the mug down and pulls his jacket off. Steve’s always made sure the house is warm. Sometimes keeps the heating systems on in _summer._ It’s horrible but Billy can’t complain when Steve looks all sweaty and hot. He’d asked him about it a few times but Steve always dodged the question.

“So how’ve you been, Stevie?”

 _Stevie._ Billy wants to throw a tantrum. That’s _his_ nickname. _No one_ calls Steve Stevie except him. Especially not this piece of shit.

“Good,” Steve replies tersely, busying himself with his tape collection. “Ya know. The usual. You? How’s England?”

 _“Wet,”_ Robbie answers. “I’ve missed Hawkins’ weather. Thinking I’d spend some time here. What do you say, lil bro?”

Billy’s the only one who notices Steve’s miniscule freeze before he’s putting the tapes down and walking back to the couch opposite the TV. He doesn’t really say anything to that.

“Mom says you were held back,” Billy really wants to punch him. Like, right now. He doesn’t though, he just keeps his eyes on the homework they’d claimed they were doing together.

“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “Good to know she’s in contact with my grades more than she is with me,” he laughs it off, shaking his head lightly as he reaches for the TV remote. The ulterior meaning is there, Billy’s surprised he didn’t just say it outright since Steve’s pretty much always straightforward. That’s what Billy likes about him.

_Good to know she’s in contact with my brother more than she is with me._

“Oh, come on, little brother,” Rob shakes with a laugh. “Now you’re a _mama’s boy?_ ”

Steve takes a deep breath, a sign of an impending lash out.

“Aight,” Billy claps his hands. “I wish I could say it was cool meeting you, man.”

Steve keeps his eyes fixed on the TV, grip on the remote turning white-knuckled.

“Likewise, _man,_ ” Rob answers bitterly. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Billy shakes his head with a short lived laugh. “I’m actually asking _you_ to leave, before I force my fist into your face. We got studying to do.”

Rob blinks at him, then slides his eyes to Steve like he’s expecting him to defend him. Steve keeps up the impassive façade as he presses down on the remote buttons, clearly disinterested in partaking in the petty argument. When Rob realizes his brother won’t be speaking for him in this lifetime, he looks back at Billy with a scornful smirk. “It’s _my_ place—”

“No. It’s not,” Billy cuts in. “You’ve been bragging about your _place_ in Buttfuck Nowhere London for an entire _hour._ Go back there.”

Robert’s eyes widen, only for a second before he’s sitting back, like the fucking embodiment of hubris.

“Or y’know, since you’re comparing places, you could find a hotel to suit your immaculate taste?” Billy goes on, adamant to push his buttons. He _wants_ to fight. He wants _Rob_ to start it so he has a reason to bash his annoying face in.

Rob’s a fucking _pacifist_ though. He ignores Billy and looks at Steve. “Moving on. I could help with studies—”

“No thanks,” Steve cuts in before he could finish his offer. “I can handle myself,” his voice wobbles a bit.

Billy feels like he shouldn’t be here. Like he’s witnessing something too familial, too personal for his presence. But he and Steve have gotten _comfortable_ enough with each other that he’s sure Steve would ask him to leave if he deemed it necessary.

“Positive?” Rob asks. “My GPA was the highest in my class,” he bends forward to slap Steve’s thigh benignly. “I’ll even give you a discount—”

“Stop it,” Steve lets out. It’s breathless and quiet, like he’s been holding it in for too long. Robert’s cheeks flush red. He clears his throat, lifting his hand to his tie and pulling at the knot there. Steve heaves a sigh. “Look, Robbie. I’m glad you’re here and all. Really. but I’m sure your friends would be gladder, yeah?” Steve finally looks at his brother. Seems like the first time he has since Robert arrived. “Go and catch up with them. You don’t have to babysit me. I’m not five anymore.”

Robert looks at Billy for a second, calculating and a little critical. Not that Billy cares what a piece of shit like Robert Harrington Jr. has to say about him. Rob opens his mouth, like he wants to protest or something, but one glower from Billy has him shutting it and getting up from the one-seater. Then he just— leaves. Places his hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes gently before he’s sauntering out the door.

“You never told me you had a brother,” Billy lets out the second the door clicks shut.

Steve shrugs. “You never asked,” he answers casually. As though the tactile tension that drifted out the door with Robert wasn’t suffocating the hell out of him.

Billy nods once and falls quiet until the silence becomes somewhat deafening. “He come around a lot?”

“Billy, if you wanna get to know the superlative piece of work that is my brother, fucking go after him,” Steve snaps. It’s sudden, harsh, obviously a result of built up feelings. Billy’s not sure what kind of feelings though.

He takes a slow breath and hums like he’s contemplating it. Steve looks _mortified._ “Nah,” Billy finally says. “Trust me, pretty boy, I got standards. And that niminy-piminy priss who looks like he just promenaded out of La Belle Époque doesn’t reach my lowest one,” he moves a little closer and presses a kiss to the cut of Steve’s jaw, trails wet lips all the way up to Steve’s ear to murmur, “The better Harrington’s right here,” against its shell.

The tenseness of Steve’s shoulders eases, and Billy takes pride in the calmative effect he has on him, noses gently at Steve’s pulse point with a small smile. “Y’gonna tell me why you two don’t get along, muffin?” he says into his skin. It’s an offer. He’s giving Steve a way out as he mouths over the soft skin of his neck. Sex or deep talk.

Steve tilts his head to the side, lets Billy lave his tongue all the way to his throat and bite down there, drawing a breathless moan out of him. “Hm?” Billy pushes, a little intrigued despite the kick of arousal in his gut. Because he’s a good, _whatever he is_ and Steve should feel like his feelings are valid.

“J-Just… sibling rivalry,” Steve croaks, dropping his head back when Billy runs a hand over the crotch of his sweats. “Billy. C’mon.”

Billy brings his lips back to Steve’s ear to whisper, wet and hot, “Sibling rivalry?”

Steve lets out a frustrated sound and looks at him through half-lidded eyes. “Are you getting off on my family problems, Hargrove?”

Billy half-laughs half-chokes, then settles for a chuckle and pulls on the string of Steve’s sweats. “I’m not _that_ much of a sadist, sweetheart,” he says, a little husky with arousal. “Just wanna be a good _friend_. Y’know. Lend a shoulder, lend a _mouth_.”

Steve sighs. “Either a shoulder or a mouth, tiger.”

And. Steve’s eyes grow impossibly wide when Billy removes his hand from his waistband and sits back. “You’re your own fuckin’ cockblock, Steve Harrington. Talk.”

Steve blinks. And while the fire in his loins is supposed to subside into a spark, Billy controlling his _urges_ turns him on more than anything else. He swipes his tongue over his lips as Billy turns the TV off. “I just- you wouldn’t understand, man.”

Billy nods. “Well, fuckin’ great thing I don’t gotta understand to listen,” he answers, free and easy. “I’m all ears.”

Steve sits on his side and lifts a hand to stroke long fingers over Billy’s ears. “You do have ears for days,” he says, mischievous, only to see said ears turn a pretty shade of pink before Billy slaps his hand away with a huff. “I dunno. Robbie was always the smart one, the helpful one, the _handsome_ one. I was like, always in his shadow, y’know? It was always _Robert this, Robert that_.”

Billy softens, turns to mirror Steve’s posture and lifts his feet onto the couch. Steve’s playing with the rings on Billy’s fingers to distract himself from the pity on his face.

“I used to copy him all the time cause I wanted our parents to treat me the same way,” he laughs, shaking his head lightly like he can’t believe how naïve he was. “They didn’t. And everything I did- just.. wasn’t enough,” he hazards a look at Billy’s face, smiles a little in a perfected show of nonchalance. “When he graduated from high school, our parents sent him away to a medical school in England—”

“Medicine?” Billy interrupts. He follows his question with a laugh, a high pitched _haaah._ “Yeah, like that bitch’ll get his hands bloody.”

Steve gives a nasal chuckle. “They uh, they got a house there. Dad moved the business to Birmingham so they can be closer to him,” Steve scratches the back of his head with a grimace. “So yeah. It’s not really, _him_. I’m happy for him but- y’know? Like, when you’re always compared with someone you start hating them even if it isn’t their fault.”

Billy knows. Is instantly reminded of Neil’s _Max’s more of a man than you_ and _do you want me to call Maxine up here to show you how it’s really done?_

So yeah, he understands. He’d tell Steve to resolve shit with his brother but he knows that would be hypocritical of him and Steve would retort with something along the lines _real rich coming from you, Hargrove._

“You’re hotter than him,” Billy finally comes out with. He leans back until he’s resting against the armrest and pulls at Steve’s hand until Steve gets the message and climbs onto his lap, legs astride his.

“That all you got from what I said?” He questions teasingly as Billy brushes his hair away from his eyes. “You always thinking with your cock, Hargrove?” he makes a pointed circle with his hips that makes Billy’s breath stutter.

“And you’re pretty damn helpful,” Billy goes on. “You drive the kids around and you helped Mrs. Henderson get Tews out of the chimney that one time. And you help that little Sinclair bitch with her homework—”

“It’s reading comprehension,” Steve rolls his eyes.

“But you _helped_ ,” Billy runs his hands up and down Steve’s thighs, sets Steve’s whole body on fire in the wake of his fingers. “And you’re smart.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit,” Steve pushes at Billy’s chest, like he’s threatening to get off his lap. Billy laughs and wraps his arms around his waist, keeping him still.

“You _are_ ,” he assures. “How else would you explain why you’re here with _me_. Best decision of your damn life if you ask me.” He’s going for playful, trying to make the situation lighter than it is because he’s never been good at deep talk. But then Steve frames his face with both hands and leans down until their lips are brushing and looks between Billy’s eyes as he goes, ‘yeah, yeah it is’. And he’s moving his hips in slow purposeful circles until Billy’s lips part and his breath is fanning over Steve’s mouth. Steve’s fucking good with his hips, undulates them in a way that reminds Billy of the to and fro of Californian waves. “Y’gonna kiss me or tease me all day, Harrington?” Whatever tone he was going for, his tremulous rasp betrays it.

Steve hums reflectively, mimicking Billy’s earlier reaction. Before he can say anything though, Billy’s pushing him back, knocking the breath out of him and climbing between his legs to kiss the words right off his lips and Steve— Steve’s smiling like it was his intent all along, wrapping his legs around Billy’s waist and canting his hips suggestively. Billy’s always been rough with his mouth. The first time they’d kissed, it was out of _spite._ He’d cornered Steve against a brick wall and bitten his lip so hard Steve was left with a metallic tang on his tongue. It isn’t any different now.

“So fuckin’ hot, baby,” Billy’s murmuring into their kiss. Lifts a hand between them and presses two fingers into Steve’s mouth alongside his tongue. Steve groans, laps over the salty digits and uses the legs wrapped around Billy’s waist to press him closer and feel the hardening line of his cock against his. “That self-righteous piece of shit doesn’t hold a fuckin’ candle to you,” Billy’s words are being pressed, _seared_ into his skin. Chin, then jaw then his neck because Steve turns to an incomprehensible puddle of goo when Billy stamps hot kisses against his soft spot, bites at a tendon hard enough it teeters on the edge of painful.

Steve arches, stuttering out an _ah_ that has Billy smirking into his skin, head dipping to take the zipper of Steve’s hoodie between his lips, the coldness of the metal grounding him as he moves down, unzipping the hoodie to get to what’s underneath. Steve’s fingers are in his hair, as shaky as his breath. “Billy— c’mon.”

 _Fuck,_ Billy loves reducing him to shambles of testosterone and pleas. Even if he never _complies._

The hoodie hangs off Steve’s body, not really serving its purpose, his chest heaving as Billy dots kisses over his stomach. Steve laughs breathlessly, tilting his head to watch him through hooded eyes. Billy’s face is hidden by his hair, making the wet sounds of his slow kisses a little hotter. Steve’s fingers clench feebly in the golden curls before he’s pushing them away from Billy’s face. _So fucking gorgeous._ He wants his mouth between his legs fucking _yesterday._ Billy’s lips are lazing, drifting over mole-spotted skin like he’s got all the time in the world, moving up to lick over a nipple before drawing it between his lips and _sucking._ Steve’s back arches off the sofa, a cry falling past his lips. And Billy’s pushing his hips down, latching onto his nipple with teeth and tongue. Steve’s eyes flutter shut, nails digging into Billy’s scalp. Then he’s pushing— pushes. He pushes Billy’s head down, down, down and Billy _goes with it._ Buries his face in Steve’s crotch when he’s where Steve wants him and inhales and Steve chokes on a cry and lets go of his hair to grip the velvet of the couch.

Billy looks up at him, blues entirely devoured by pupil as he takes a hold of the apparent line of Steve’s cock and rubs him slowly. Steve parts his legs wider, thrusts his hips into Billy’s tantalizing grip. “Get on with it, Hargrove,” he hisses weakly. “Fuck. _Please._ ”

Billy tuts his tongue. “Dunno, Stevie,” he says casually. Sadistic piece of shit. “Got other plans in mind.”

Steve groans because he’s a _brat_ and always wants to get his way. And his hand unclenches from the couch and flies to Billy’s hair. Pushes him back to the ache between his legs. “Please. Come on. I’m still _so_ sad about my parents’ favoritism,” he pouts, making Billy laugh against his treasure trail before pressing a kiss there. Steve laughs too, a little more breathless and a little more desperate. “Baby—”

“I wanna eat you out,” Billy interrupts.

Steve’s cock gives a kick in the loose confines of his sweats. “Yeah. Shit. Yeah, okay.”

Billy licks over his mouth, like he’s already _tasting him._ “Roll over, pretty boy.”

Steve does as told, ignores the buckle of his knees as he presses his forehead to the armrest of the couch. Billy pulls the hoodie off him, covers his back with his chest to press kisses into the nape of his neck. Laps over each vertebra until he’s at the dip of his back. Steve stutters out a pleading call of his name.

Billy hooks his fingers into his waistband and slowly pulls it over the curve of his ass. Steve stops breathing for a second, stops moving. And Billy’s fucked him enough times to know the physical signs of Steve’s insecurity. He presses a kiss to the dimples at the small of Steve’s back. “You got any idea how pretty you are?” He asks. Steve doesn’t reply. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you at Tina’s,” he pulls the sweats down as far as they’d go and presses his hands to Steve’s inner thighs to spread them apart. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you, Stevie.”

Steve swallows.

“Only have eyes for you,” Billy’s hands are big on his cheeks, parting them in a way that has Steve flushing with embarrassment. “Look at you,” Billy groans. “You’re so pretty down here. So _pink._ ”

Steve chokes on a laugh. “You ever stop talking?” He exhales.

Billy leans forward, runs his tongue over his pucker once. Steve bites down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood. Billy licks again, more purposeful. And again. Then he’s spitting onto the clutch of muscle and running the tip of his tongue over it in fucking _circles._ Steve chokes on a breath, bringing a hand down between his legs. Billy grips Steve’s hand before it can reach its destination, tuts his tongue in disapproval. And _fuck,_ Steve can’t breathe. His cock throbs painfully, blood hot in his veins. Then—

Then Billy’s parting him further, and sucking hard kisses against his hole. It’s _disgusting,_ it’s so fucking disgusting and Steve’s going to come.

He pushes back against Billy’s mouth, Billy’s name leaving him in a hiccup.

Billy pulls back, laughs all breathless. Steve’s about to ask him why the fuck he stopped, he’s about to _cry_ from the loss. But he hears Billy’s zipper, then the slick _wet_ sound of Billy jerking himself off and it hits him like a fucking tidal wave that Billy’s getting off on his pleasure.

When Billy’s hand is back on his ass, it’s wet, has Steve panting out his name again because apparently, in his throes of pleasure, Billy’s name is the only word he knows.

Billy’s thumbs dig into either side of Steve’s hole. It stings, the spread of it. But that thought’s long forgotten when Billy licks _into_ him. It’s filthy and hot and has fire hurtling through his veins. Steve shakes with a cry, tries to touch himself again but Billy’s _always_ a second faster, slaps his hand away the moment it’s brushing over the hardness hanging between his legs, and he _feels_ more than hears Billy’s _nuh-uh_ muffled inside him.

He clenches. Deliberate and _bratty._ Has Billy slapping his ass once in a way that clearly says _behave._

Steve groans and Billy pulls back. “Fuckin’ brat,” his voice is _hoarse._ Makes Steve push his hips back. And Billy— he kisses his rim, hard and wet, teeth scraping over the clutch and wringing a sob from Steve before he’s plunging his tongue inside. Steve shudders, doesn’t mean to clench. Billy pulls back. “Jesus, Harrington. I _need my tongue._ ” There’s no heat to it and Steve’s halfway between a laugh and a cry, reaching a hand back and— and Billy thinks he’s trying to guide him back, but Steve’s pulling, hoistering himself up with one hand and drawing Billy up to kiss him.

Billy kisses back, melts into it and cups his neck to feel the strain of the tendons there. “Want me inside you, baby?” he whispers into the space between them. “Y’know, lend a shoulder, lend a cock.”

Steve would laugh if he wasn’t so horny. But all he can manage is a breathless _yeah,_ pushing his hips back against Billy’s. Billy presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, laughing quietly. “So desperate,” he taunts. “Y’think I’d do it? Fuck you without prep?”

“You’d do anything to get off,” Steve retorts through gritted teeth. He sounds like he _wants_ Billy to go in dry, prepped with nothing but a wet rimjob. He falls forward and wiggles his ass. Billy snorts.

...

Steve wakes up with Billy’s arm slung over his waist and his leg hiked up around his thigh. He sinks into the warmth of Billy’s torso, basks in it for a few moments before slowly easing out of his grip.

Billy snores, rolls onto his back and smacks his mouth in his sleep. For a second, Steve wishes he had a camera. It’s a thought he instantly squashes, along with the small smile on his face.

What he and Billy have isn’t anything more than sex. It’s always been about sex and that’s not going to change because Billy talked him down one time.

Those thoughts don’t stop him from brushing Billy’s curls away from his forehead to press a kiss there.

When he climbs downstairs, Robbie’s there. Billy’s shirt’s on the floor and Steve’s sweatpants are hanging off the armrest of the couch. Steve feels a sudden weight on his chest, heavy and asphyxiating.

“Robbie— Hey. When did you—” he clears his throat, his stomach in knots.

The smile Robbie aims at him is supposed to loosen the knots, not tighten them. “Maybe we should talk?”

They go to the kitchen. Steve makes a mug of coffee for Robbie, one that isn’t three quarters sugar, and opts for water himself. “Look, Robbie. I know what it looks like but it’s not—”

“I’m your brother, save it,” Rob cuts in. Steve presses his mouth shut. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Steve blinks. Crosses his arms over his chest like that’d protect him from feeling exposed. “OK.”

“Can you stop hating me for one second and listen?” Rob questions.

“I don’t- I don’t _hate—_ ”

“I said _save it,_ Steve,” it’s harsher. Makes Steve look away. “I just need you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

Steve’s jaw tightens. He manages a small nod, still looking away.

“I know I’m smarter than you.”

Steve’s eyes perch on him in under a second, cold and _hurt._

“Study-wise,” Rob amends. “But that’s all I have on you.”

Steve gives a single bout of wry laughter. “And that’s all mom and dad care about.”

“I don’t care about them.”

“Well I _do!_ ” Steve comes out with. “I _do_ care. You’ve never lived a single day in my shoes so don’t come speechifying your brotherly bullshit. You have no fucking clue what it was like for me.”

Rob flinches at the profanity, like his ears are too good to hear words of that sort.

“I don’t wanna fight,” Steve breathes out. “Just- if you were here to offer to tutor me. My answer is no and you can leave.”

Rob purses his lips, putting his mug down. He leans back on the counter, arms folded over his chest. “And you don’t know what it was like for me either,” he says. “You weren’t the one studying all day while your brother was out with friends just to reach your parents’ expectations.”

Steve shakes his head, lopsided smile mocking. Feels like there’s something Rob missed. “At least they had expectations for you,” Steve states. It thieves Rob of his placidity, gives Steve a deep sense of satisfaction. “You know that dad said he’s not gonna pay for college if I don’t get a respectable GPA? Said that would _teach me a lesson._ ”

Rob doesn’t answer.

“Of course you don’t. You’re too busy worrying about London’s wet weather and how it’s damaging your hair.”

Rob frowns, looks more offended than Steve’s ever seen him.

“Which, by the way, you’ve got split ends,” Steve adds, unsolicited.

Rob reaches for his hair, rolls a strand through his fingers. “I told you I only had an education on you,” he mutters.

The tension eases. Steve bites the insides of his cheeks to hold back a laugh. Rob breaks first.

The conversation’s far from over. But it’s on hold for now.

“So. Is he your…” Robbie trails off.

Steve clears his throat, scratching the spot under his ear awkwardly. “It’s not like that.”

Robbie blinks, lifts a brow like he doesn’t believe him.

“I’m serious.”

“You two need to work things out,” Robbie says. He downs what’s left of his coffee and puts the mug in the sink. “Because it doesn’t take a genius to see that that macho git likes you.”

_Git?_

Steve feels an inexplicable warmth in his chest as he follows Rob out to the living room. “Where are you going?” He asks.

“Oh, I found a hotel to suit my immaculate taste,” Rob grins. He pulls an envelope out of his pocket and hands it to Steve. “This is what I came for by the way.”

Steve looks at it. Blinks. Rips it open and pulls out a thick piece of paper.

“I’m engaged.”

Steve snorts. Smiles. Looks up.

“To Dana.”

“No,” Steve says, breathless and betrayed. “The chick who pinched my cheeks every time— you’re an _asshole._ You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I’m marrying a girl to annoy you?” Rob asks. “Wow. I truly am taking sibling rivalry to a whole new level.”

Steve laughs. “I guess I’m happy for you.”

Robbie smiles. Genuine and small. He glances at the stairs. “Bring him as your plus one.”

“And take parental disappointment to a whole new level?” Steve jeers. He pauses. “I’ll consider it.”

Rob ruffles his hair, has Steve slapping his hand away and pushing him in the direction of the door.

Once the door shuts, Steve takes a breath. Chuckles as he puts the invitation on the cabinet beside the door. He looks at himself in the antique mirror hanging on top of it and smiles at himself.

“I take it you two sorted shit out?”

Steve jumps. Breathes out a _Jesus Christ_ as he turns to Billy.

“In the flesh,” Billy winks. He walks over to him, barefooted and lazy. “What’s that?” He reaches for the invitation. Steve takes his hand before it can touch the envelope, places it on his ass instead.

“Nothing important.”

Billy squeezes, smirks when Steve moans.

“Kiss me, you fucker.”

Billy laughs. Nods. Kisses.


End file.
